


This is Where The Helicopters Came to Take Me Away

by serapheim



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Helicopters, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, SITRU, Savoy, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serapheim/pseuds/serapheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually Aramis didn’t dream. But if he did, his dreams were filled with nightmarish memories of Savoy. He could never predict when he would have a bad night or a bad day, for that matter. He had his triggers, but being away from Quebec and thus from everything that could remind him of that dreadful events in his life he would have thought that he was safe. </p><p>He was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Where The Helicopters Came to Take Me Away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [First Time for Everything](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283380) by [crzy_wrtr10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crzy_wrtr10/pseuds/crzy_wrtr10). 



> I just couldn't help myself. I am sorry. This is a short story inspired by crzy_wrtr10's "Special Investigations and Tactical Response Unit AU" series. The universe is not mine. Just playing with it for a bit.  
> Hopefully, I did at least a mediocre job.
> 
> The title comes from the Barenaked Ladies "Helicopters" song.

“What are doing?”

The door behind Porthos closed with a soft click, but Aramis didn’t even move a muscle. He was sitting by the big floor to ceiling window of their hotel room. Resting against the writing desk, he had a bottle of wine nested between his bent legs and a half-full glass on a low slim window sill. 

“Nothing,” said Aramis, “Just enjoying the view.”

The view was spending indeed, Porthos had to agree, when he came to stand by his side. The lake was deep blue, calm, and so vast that it seemed like a sea. On the righthand side there was a dozen of magnificent skyscrapers. Their windows shined with magenta hue in the rays of the setting sun. It was such a different skyline from their home town, Quebec City, different from Montreal even, alien and beautiful. 

This trip had been the most pleasurable one they had had in years. The two of them had been sent to their Toronto colleagues as a part of the consulting project launched between the provinces. It had to do with the Bescond case that Musketeers had been working on for months. But since the crime group had moved to Ontario, they were now technically out of their jurisdiction.

Why Trevilled had decided to send them all the way to Toronto instead of exchanging several of phone calls and emails was beyond Porthos. But an opportunity to spend a couple of days away from the active duty and in, for once, a nice hotel made it all feel like a holiday.

Not that either of them complained. Sometimes getting away, even for a day, could make wonders. Maybe, Treville knew that too.

Porthos brushed his fingers through Aramis’ hair and bit down a smile, when his friend leaned in to it with a satisfied murmur.

“Where did you get wine?” he asked.

“I asked at the reception, and they pointed me towards a liquor store.” Aramis had his eyes closed and looked very content. “Imagine that, they don’t sell alcohol in stores here. Ah, I miss Quebec!”

Porthos chuckled, “You sound like Athos! We’ve been here only for two days.”

“Still,” Aramis opened his eyes and looked up at Porthos. His dark eyes shone with content. “Quebec is our home.”

Perhaps, it was the way he looked, so relaxed and almost pliable, or maybe the way he spoke with that tiny, barely noticeable, Spanish accent that would stay with him forever. Or maybe it was simply because Porthos really wanted to, he kneeled beside him and took his mouth in a sweet kiss.

They kissed leisurely, fingers tangled in each others hair, eyes closed. Aramis made an impatient sound at the base of his throat and moved closer to Porthos, almost overturning the bottle of wine. Porthos had to grab it and dispose on the desk away from the carpet. 

“Careful,” he murmured between the kisses. “I am not paying for any damage.”

“A couple of drops of wine is not a damage,” protested Aramis. He pushed Porthos away and got to his feet. “It is a good vintage though, don’t want to waste it.” He grabbed the bottle and Porthos’ hand, and led him to their bed. 

They had been given a twin room, which suited them both just fine. They had moved two beds together and enjoyed all extra space they could get. 

They fell asleep indulgently early, after finishing the bottle of wine and sharing more sleepy kisses. 

Usually Aramis didn’t dream. But if he did, his dreams were filled with nightmarish memories of Savoy. He could never predict when he would have a bad night or a bad day, for that matter. He had his triggers, but being away from Quebec and thus from everything that could remind him of that dreadful events in his life he would have thought that he was safe. 

He was wrong.

Half through the night some strange sound penetrated his dream, making him frown in his sleep and toss. Only he couldn’t properly move. Something was restraining him. Aramis couldn’t understand why he couldn't move. And then he realized that he was strapped to a stretcher.

He must have been injured. The sound that had almost awoken him was getting louder and louder. Aramis didn’t remember being injured but he remembered the sound. It was a rescue helicopter. 

Savoy.

The memories came flooding his consciousness, and he tried moving, tried crying out, but he couldn’t. His chest hurt. His breath was caught in his throat. He couldn't breathe. He was choking. 

He sobbed.

Suddenly, there were hands manhandling him, and Aramis wondered why he was being removed from the stretcher if he was supposed to be loaded into the helicopter. The sound of the blades turning was getting louder and louder meaning that the helicopter was ready to ascend. 

Someone moved him, dragged him out of the warmth into the biting cold. Hands moved over his shoulders and his arms and his hands, as he heaved one breath after another, not being able to breathe freely. 

The noise was deafening by now, and Aramis keened unable to contain the fear that the sound brought. Perhaps, only a minute or two passed, but they felt like an eternity to Aramis. Finally, the sound was lessening, going up and soon disappearing again.

When his ears finally stopped ringing, Aramis realized that he was cradled in Porthos’ arms. The window was open, and chilly air was raising goosebumps on Aramis’ skin. His friend was rocking him slightly and petting his hair. They were both on the floor, in an awkward pile of limbs, and Aramis could feel his leg falling asleep.

“It is OK, ‘mis,” Porthos was saying. “It is OK.”

Taking a deep, albeit shaky, breath, Aramis moved away slightly away. He was ashamed to look at Porthos. His friends had witnessed more than one of his PTSD episodes before. But what amidst the nightmare seemed to be perfectly reasonable to Aramis, made him feel ashamed and very conscious of his demons afterwards. 

“Why was there a helicopter?” He breathed out, because he needed to know that it had been real and not just part of his imagination.

Porthos shrugged, “There is a hospital across the street. I saw a helicopter landing the other day.” He frowned slightly, “I didn’t know, you had an issue with helicopters.”

“Me neither,” whispered Aramis. 

Porthos cupped Aramis’ cheek with his big warm palm and leaned to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“We will check out first thing in the morning then,” promised Porthos, and the way he said that, neither accusing nor condescending, but as matter of fact, made Aramis’ heart stutter. 

He didn’t deserve him, he didn’t deserve his friends, his brothers, his family. They were too good to him. He was tainted, broken. One day he would let them all down. He didn’t say any of this out loud. He only pressed his forehead to Porthos’ broad shoulder and breathed out a quiet ‘thank you’. 

Closing his eyes tight, Aramis both made a promise and prayed to God, he was not sure he truly believed in anymore, to protect his friends from his own demons. 

At any cost.

**Author's Note:**

> This morning I woke not being able to breathe. For reasons unknown. That and seeing as I get awoken by helicopters more than once a week, you can say that I wrote this from my personal experience.
> 
> Will correct typos later.


End file.
